The Darkness
by Cheshiresmile6
Summary: It has been a year. One year since Sherlock's death and John is plagued by nightmares. One night, after another horrible nightmare, John has had enough and wants to end everything. Well, there's nothing left for him anyway, not any more. Oneshot JohnLock. Warning- a little angsty.


**_A/N : Hey everyone, Just a heads up; this is a JohnLock Fanfic so if you no likey, then don't read it. _**

**_Don't judge me, this my first one and it shall not be me last! Hope you guys enjoy, if there are any errors and what not, do tell be and i will fix it up :) _**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. If i did, Johnlock would be a cannon._**

**_Warnings: maybe a little OOC (Not sure), maybe angsty.  
_**

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_Everything was dark. Everything but the blood that stained his hands. It was warm and thick against his fingers, it ran over to fill the lines in his palm's, crawling to melt in between the gaps in his fingers, dropping to the floor. As the drops crashed to the ground, grey started to cover the area, making the objects finally visible. It was a street, people were frozen were they stood, all watching John. He looked at the blood; it was turning into a black colour, not red. He looked up to the building, to find Sherlock upon it. Before he could say anything, He fell. Fell to the ground. But he didn't crash, breaking his skull. No, he stepped onto the pavement and walked towards John. Blood was on his head, Black as well, even if he didn't hit the pavement, it was still there. It will always be there. He stopped a few feet in front of John, an arm reaching out._

_"John... You didn't save me..." His voice was monotone, eye's which were once filled with life are blank. No soul. Nothing. John tried to reach out but couldn't take a step forward._

_"Sherlock, I tried. I'm so, so sorry." John spoke, his voice cracked. Hands started to grab John's body, trying to pull him into the hole behind him. Sherlock looked at him, more blood pouring down his pale face to the ground._

_"Not good enough. You failed." He stated as a grin moved across his face. He laughed. A laughter that sounded evil, one that had no soul in it, no meaning, nothing truly humorous. John's eyes widen as he tried screaming out Sherlock's name but his voice was lost, nothing but a whimper escaped. The hands pulled harder, making him fall back into the hole. Darkness crawled over him under his clothes slowly, ever so slowly covering every part of him. He couldn't feel his body, it was disappearing. He yelled again but the darkness came to cover his mouth. The sight of Sherlock was above him, saying something to him in his last moments; "You will be alone in the darkness. Forever."_

* * *

John yelled; sweat covering his body and bed sheets. He kicked at the bed, feeling as if the sheets were trying to pull him into the dark hole. He finally got them off him and sat up in his bed, breathing heavily. The room was still dark, all but the street light from the street outside his window. But that light wasn't enough. Shadows were crawling up around the walls, making beckoning motions at John. They slowly crawled up his bed, trying to pull at the sheets to move them but at last, they could not get a hold of them. John closed his eyes. _It's not real. This isn't real. Those at just images of your brain, the shadows don't move. _ Thoughts went around and around his head. He reached out to the bedside table, eye still closed, and felt for the lamp, clicking it to turn on. A pink haze made its self over John's closed eyes causing him to open them.

The light had caused the shadows to retreat back into their hiding spots, to hide in the darkness till they can have their chance again. John sighed, running his shaken hands through his wet hair. He looked around his room, looked at the nothingness around him. He had moved, again, to an apartment far from Baker Street. His room had nothing more than three boxes to the side, a desk with his laptop on it; the bedside table that had his phone, a book, a glass of water and the lamp. His gun hid under his pillow, like always, as if someone were to come after him. John stood up and slowly walked to the bathroom. He pulled his now wet clothes off him and turned the shower on, climbing under it. He closed his eyes and payed attention to nothing but the water running over his shocked body. An image flashed over his eyes causing him to flinch but he didn't open his eyes.

These were normal now. Every few nights, a nightmare will come to his mind. Each have the same story but a little different each time, the story of the blood, the soul-less Sherlock and the darkness taking over him. It's been a year. Most people would be over it by now, well, that's what everyone thinks. But no, John was far from being 'over' the death of Sherlock Holmes, the man that meant the most to him. John turned the shower off and dried himself, changing into a fresh pair of sweats and top from a box in his room before returning to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, or what he thinks he could call himself. The person whom looked back at him had bags under his eyes, his eyes were blood shot from lack of sleep, he was thinner, not so thin to see every bone but close to it. His hair was messy, it needed a cut; it was long enough to run your fingers through it and pull lightly. Yeah, the person looking back at him was a sad excuse of a man called John Watson. The man with no soul and no heart. Not anymore. He had it burned by a horrible human being called Jim Moriarty, who promised Sherlock to burn his heart out but ended up doing it to John. Terrible isn't it? And what's worse is that no one, no one believes in Sherlock Holmes any more, that Sherlock was the good guy. No one but John.

John closed his eyes, a tear falling down his face, crashing into the sink which only just reminded him even more about the memory he had just en-counted. _No, not a memory; a nightmare that was a twisted version of a memory. _He reminded himself, trying so hard to calm himself down but it wasn't working. Not this time. His heart was still racing; tears were falling down his cheeks, his body shaking a little. He took a shaken breath inwards, letting it out slowly. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't live in fear, for that isn't living at all is it?

Months ago, He came up with ways to do it. To end his life. Over dose, cutting, shooting him self... But no matter what, his mind replayed the last conversation he had with Sherlock, how he wanted John to forget him and live on. At the time, it had worked; it had convinced him not to. But now... there was nothing left for him here. Nothing that matters.

John wiped away his tears and walked back into his room. He went to the side of his bed reaching for his phone. No, he wouldn't shoot himself. Too painful. He has been shot before, and it was not pleasant. He walked to the empty living room and pulled his shoes on. He opened the door to the apartment and closed it, locking to door behind him with the keys. What? It was a part of his everyday routine; he couldn't just not lock the door. He pocketed his hands and walked up the stairs. His apartment building was 15 floors high and he was on the 3rd floor. There was an elevator but he liked to take the stairs, it reminded him of Baker Street sometimes.

As he slowly walked, his phone chimed; **beep, beep**. John frowned, stopping and pulled out his phone, glaring down at the screen. The time was 2:16 am and the number on the screen was a blocked number. Probably a wrong number, someone trying to contact someone who they met at a club the night before or something. He opened the message and blinked at the words.

_Go back to your apartment, John. _

He looked round the stairs for someone, anyone at all. He looked down over the railing at the floor and looked up at the floors above. He was on the 8th floor now, but there wasn't a chance that someone was there. Who could have seen him leave the apartment, yet alone text him using his name. Confused, John sent a text back;

_Who is this? That isn't funny. –JW_

He started to walk up again, he reached the 9th floor when he got a reply.

_That doesn't matter, just stop walking and go back to your room._

John frowned again, ignoring it and continued to walk. He took two steps forward when **beep, beep. **

_John, stop. I know what you are thinking. Don't you dare. _

John froze. How was that possible? No one should know. No one even knows that he lives here; other than his sister. He started to walk again, texting at the same time.

_Oh really? And what would that be? I can do want I want. –JW_

10th floor.

_You are going up to the roof to jump. I know you. I know how you think. Don't do this._

John shook his head. This was probably not even happening right now, it was probably all part of his mind playing a trick on him. Once again.

11th floor.

_You don't know me, you don't know anything. I don't even know who you are. Leave me alone. –JW_

13th floor.

_I know you more than anyone else does. I know you feel alone, you feel horrible, and you can't take it anymore. But listen John, it's not the end of the world; you don't have to do this. I will not leave you alone because that's what I'm like, you know it. _

John stopped in the middle of the stairs of the 14th floor, reading the message over again. **More than anyone else does...because that's what I'm like...you know it... **These lines flew around John's head as he tried to connect the dots. There was only one person who would be even be capable of knowing this, one person that would push and push till you were the one to give in. One person and that person was dead. So it was not possible for that to be even remotely an option. He started to walk again, replying to the message.

_Fine, you got me. I am thinking all those things and more. But you are the one who needs to listen; It feels like the end of the world, I cannot move on_; _I can't live in this...hell anymore. There is only one person I can think who you are and that is impossible. So leave. Me. Alone. -JW_

John pocketed his phone and walked up the remaining stairs to the door that lead to the roof. He opened it and stepped outside; closing it behind him. The cold wind ran through his body, freezing his veins and slowly running ice to the core of his bones. He shivered, winter was always hash here and he normal enjoyed it. Curling up under the covers, drinking hot tea, some jam on toast; all that kind of stuff. But this wasn't the time, now he was here to end everything; the pain, the sadness...everything.

John walked to the edge of the building, looking over to the ground below. At this height, he was sure that the fall will kill him. It might hurt a little but that's what the cold weather is for; to freeze and numb his body before he can feel any pain. It was perfect really; no one was going to stop him because it was too early, no one was awake. No one will wake for another few hours because of the cold. Everything is set. All he has to do is to climb up on the small wall, count to three and jump. The end. John was about to take another step when; **beep, beep.** Fucking phone. John pulled it out and read the message.

_What is it was possible? What if that person is alive and they will be there to prove it? _

John frowned, he bit his lip wondering what he should do. Well, it couldn't hurt to be curious about this last thing.

_It's not possible... But if so, how? How will they prove it? –JW_

_I can prove it John. I can prove I am alive. I am almost at the top, I will be there just don't move. Don't jump. _

John's heart was beating harder now at the thoughts that raced around his head. This person... Could they really be Sherlock? No, it's impossible, he is dead. He died in front of John. John felt the warmth leave his body. He shook his head and replied;

_This is just another trick. Nothing more. –JW_

John took a step up the wall, grabbing his phone tight in his right hand, toes over the edge. The wind blew through his body again, it was starting to numb it. He couldn't feel his fingers, toes, arms or legs. This is it. The end. Finally. **Beep, beep. **

John ignored his phone and close his eyes, tears were starting to fall down his face again, feeling a little warm on his cold cheeks. He breathed slowly in, thinking of Sherlock; his hair, face, fingers, smile, his icy blue eyes... everything. These will be the last things he wants to think of. He will see Sherlock again soon but he didn't want to die thinking of anyone but him.

"Alright... Here goes. Three, two..." John started but was cut off by a voice.

"John. Don't." John's eyes flew open as his body froze at the voice. Impossible, it sounded exactly like he remembered; warmth, deep and kind. Not like in his nightmare, not soul-less and feeling-less. John slowly, ever so slowly turned around to face Sherlock. He stood still on the edge, looking over his shoulder at the man whom stood there with an arm reached out; just like in the nightmare but this time... this time was different.

Sherlock had his normal clothes on; the jacket, the scarf, the black shoes. He had no black blood on his face today; his curls were blowing around in the wind; away from his face. He was as pale as John remembered, but he had bags under his eyes like John but not as bad. He was standing there, in the flesh, looking at John like he was about to lose the one thing that means most to him... the same look John had upon his own face when he saw Sherlock on the roof.

"S-Sherlock?" John whispered his voice unable to go any higher than that. Sherlock nodded, taking a small step forward.

"Yes John, See? I'm here. I am alive. This isn't a trick of your mind, I promise. Please step away from there." Sherlock exclaimed, he arm still reaching out for John, even if he wasn't close enough to touch him. John's eyes were wide; his body was unable to move and he wasn't able to think. Tears were still falling from his eyes, running down his cheeks.

"You are alive... You are here..." He muttered. Sherlock nodded again and took another step closer, he was so close now, all John had to do was reach his hand out and he will be able to grab Sherlock's hand. John turned slowly, yet shaken. He slowly reached out, he was so close now. He moved his foot a little bit but he was unaware that there was some water that had frozen over on the ground, making his foot slip. John's eyes widened as his foot came out from under him and he slowly started to fall backwards. Sherlock had yelled out John's name and luckily was able to grab hold of John's outreaching hand, pulling hard to bring John falling forward onto the roof. His body crashed into Sherlock's from the force of the pull and they both fell on the roof's ground.

John laid on top of Sherlock for a moment; unable to calm his breathing down as he realised that he really would have fallen if Sherlock hadn't been so close to grab him. John felt Sherlock's chest moving up and down as he breathed heavily, he could feel Sherlock's heart beating fast against his ribs. Sherlock was alive, and he just saved him. This wasn't a trick. If it was, John would be laying on the ground below the building. Dead.

John rested his forehead against Sherlock's chest, grabbing the martial with both hands on it. Tears were falling onto Sherlock Shirt as he silently cried.

"You... bastard... You could have told me...you left me to deal with everything...You bastard..." John mumbled into his shirt. He heard Sherlock sigh, feeling an arm go around his waist and a hand went to his hair, fingers running through it.

"I know. I'm sorry, I would have come earlier but i had to make sure you were safe. That everyone was safe. It's hard to understand right now but i will explain everything... I promise." He apologized. The hand in John's hair moved to lift John's face up by the chin so Sherlock could look at him. A small smile played across his mouth. "Do you know how much you scared me? How many times must i tell you never to try anything i do?" John couldn't help it but laugh at this. It was a real laugh too, one that he thought was gone forever and a smile that he haven't been able to use in a year.

"What can i say? Monkey see, monkey do" John muttered. This now made Sherlock chuckle, a rumble ran through his chest. John slowly stood up, wiping down his sweat pants. He reached a hand out to Sherlock who was still on the ground.

"Come on... Let's go inside." Sherlock smiled up at John and gladly took his hand to stand up. When he was up, Sherlock entwined his fingers in John's own. The action startled John for a second before he squeezed lightly. He reached up on his toes and kissed Sherlock on the lips. It was only light but it held many meanings. Sherlock grinned and kissed back for a moment before breaking the kiss.

"Let's go. It's bloody freezing out here." Sherlock announced, squeezing John's hand and started to pull him towards the door, away from the roof's edge and back into his old life with Sherlock. No, not his old life; a new one.

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**_A/N: Alrighy, It finished! I hope you all enjoyed it and keep an eye out for some more soon. Cya! 3_**


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